The Archer's Paradox
by godtiermarsupial
Summary: Archer helps her father with their family's struggling business, but the day-to-day responsibilities take their toll. No one ever said growing up was easy.


Ponyville, although just a rural country town, upheld the illusion of always teeming with life and energy. Cheerful ponies were around every corner with a welcome smile on their face. Vibrant street carts littered the roads, their music and banners aimed to catch a potential customer's eye. Rainy days like this, however, gave Ponyville's cheery disposition a run for its money. Drab grey clouds loomed overhead, muting the vivid colors of blooming flowers planted in windowsills. Streets that had been bustling with colorful ponies were left abandoned and dreary. Even the rain was dull and grey, its monotonous pitter-patter filling the emptiness of the town.

Archer had formed a habit of going to Everfree Forest on rainy days like this. No pushing through crowds, no obnoxiously cheery music – just her and her thoughts alone. The steel blue filly felt much less on edge when under the cover of dark clouds, despite the wetness that typically accompanied it. Tiny, lukewarm droplets buffeted her as she trekked through the silent streets, her spiky navy mane soaking onto the back of her neck. Archer shifted her stance as she meandered on, the bow and quiver that hung at her side knocking hollowly against each other.

Inherited by her namesake and her cutie mark, archery was Archer's true passion. The filly fondly regarded the bow that hung by its strap at her side. She had crafted her bow herself, and strung it to absolute pinpoint precision. She had whittled the ebony until it was sleek and smooth, subtly curved to the grip of her hooves and engraved with her name. It was her family's tradition to make weapons. Her parents crafted their weapons themselves, as did their parents and so on. Not every member of the family made bows and arrows; it was more a matter of preference. Archer's father, Arrowhead, made his own spear when he was a colt. Archer had never heard much about her mother, but her machete sat in her father's room. It was a topic of discussion she and her father mutually chose to avoid.

The well-trodden roads of Ponyville melded into the weed-ridden paths of the country as she walked further, but the grey skies remained persistent. Everfree Forest sat on the horizon, beckoning her into its comforting, familiar tangle of serpentine vines and undergrowth. It was a little ironic, but Everfree forest was where she felt safest. This was her domain. The weight of locked up emotions felt lighter in Archer's chest with each step towards the woodland. Pent up anger, hidden fears and anxieties, sorrow and jealousy would all be released to fester in her mind and stomach. It was all about channeling them correctly. Papa had raised Archer with the idea that such emotions made one weak in society, but strong in isolation - which was why one hunts alone. Predators do not rely on strength in numbers.

Slowing to a stop, Archer craned her neck back to get the full view of the forest: towering, twisted trees and vines ensnared in a fruitless struggle for life-giving sun, creating a dark canopy to snuff all plant life trapped below it. Her venture into Everfree would have been considered insane by anyone who didn't understand what she did. Even if they did understand what she did, it would still be considered insane. Life as a hunter wasn't easy, after all. Archer wiped her wet mane from her face, her lavender eyes half-lidded. She adjusted her bow, grabbed an arrow with her mouth and rolled her shoulders. After a moment of idleness, the filly let everything melt away and entered the forest.

Nothing that was outside of Everfree Forest mattered anymore. Archer's senses were flooded with smells, sounds, sights as she quickly analyzed her surroundings. Her aloof gait from before was now a controlled crouch, creeping nigh soundlessly through the trees. In the murky woods, her dark coat blended in perfectly. Natural instinct was all that guided her hoofsteps. She was a part of the forest now, an enemy from within waiting to strike. Expertly patient, Archer slunk through the brambles, lavender eyes darting around the trees for signs of movement. This was her element, her domain. Gentle raindrops that found their way past the leafy canopy dampened Archer's steel blue coat. But the rain did not handicap her senses. Hours, if not days of practice in the rain with Papa sharpened her senses to hear through the patter of the rain, smell through the musk it created, and feel the vibrations that are made by a living creature rather than a drop of water.

A rustle in the shrubs caught her attention. Archer's ears pinpointed the sound, eyes darting to the source. Carefully, she stalked her way over to the bushes where the sound originated. Her soft belly brushed the scraggy forest floor as she crawled. Once she crept close enough for comfort, Archer reared up and smashed her hooves into the ground. What the young filly expected was a frightened creature to scamper from the bushes, disoriented from the sudden noise. She was only met with disheartening silence, however. That rustling she had heard was probably just a gust of wind. Her rational mind scolded her for acting out on a simple sound, with no smell or sight to back it up. It was a rookie mistake to act on one sense alone. Archer scolded herself for her mistake and trudged deeper into the forest. Everything in a mile radius was probably frightened away, to her chagrin. Her last hunting trip had yielded no fruit for her labor, and Archer was eager to bring something back for her father this time. To come back once empty hooved was mildly understandable. To come back twice empty hooved was a disgrace.

Alert lavender eyes scoured their surroundings as Archer slunk through the underbrush, fat droplets of rain embedding themselves into her thin fur. She was starting to lose track of time. Under the canopy of trees, the forest was just as dark during the day as it was during the night, so she couldn't gauge the time very well. This provided a bigger problem for Archer than it seemed. Bigger, nastier creatures roamed around Everfree at night. Archer had heard stories from Papa; an encounter with a Manticore was no walk in the park, even with a lifetime of experience and the raw strength of a fully grown Earth pony. She knew she wouldn't survive if she had an encounter with one of the many magical beasts that prowled the forest after dark. With that in mind, she focused on her senses and lithely weaved her way through the tangle of vines and weeds that clawed at her.

Archer lifted her head, ears swiveling forward. She had travelled far enough to reach a river, its water calmly bubbling downstream. There was a break in the tree canopy, revealing that it was night. Dark, heavy clouds muffled Princess Luna's full moon from its usual bright glow to an ominous haze. Still, the dim light provided enough of a contrast for her to spot a swooping shadow, gracefully cutting through the air and perching in a nearby tree. Archer's breath hitched as she gazed at the creature: a large bald eagle with intense, knowing yellow eyes and a powerful hooked beak. It was breath-taking. The bird gripped a limp wad of white fur in its beak, and from what Archer could tell it looked like a rabbit. Looked like dinner. As in answer to her musing, it cocked its head back and swallowed the mammal in a single go. Then, with an air of superiority, its yellow eyes flickered over to Archer. Seemingly never blinking, its gaze captivated her.

They stood there, caught in a perpetual staring match. The eagle's unblinking eyes beckoned for a challenge, cocky and disdainful of the scrawny earth filly. Her lips tightening into a concentrated frown, Archer took ahold of her ebony bow slowly, as to not startle the beast. She strung the arrow that was in her mouth, and lifted the bow to aim. Pulling back until the string was taut, she lined her bow up with her target and released. The sharp pluck of the string was music to Archer's ears. The arrow's speed as it whistled through the air, almost too fast to see, caught the eagle off-guard. It launched into the sky like a great feathery shooting star, but it was too slow.

The thick silence of the drizzling rain was pierced by its cry. Though it had moved in time to spare its life, the gigantic bird's wing was skewered. It spiraled through the air and crashed into the ground a few yards from the riverbed. Archer carefully approached the wounded beast, reaching for a new arrow to finish the job she had started. Thunder rolled in the sky, bringing a new wave of unforgiving rain that cascaded down the filly's coat. She edged closer and closer, taking the sharpened wooden arrow from her quiver. The great eagle remained deathly still. Was it dead? No, it was just a wound in the wing. It couldn't be. But maybe the fall killed it? Surely, a bird of that size could take a fall like that…as if on cue, the bird jerked instantly to life, beak and talons latching ahold of Archer in a flash of fury and feathers and _pain and blood and red-hot anger so much hurting oh dear Celestia make it stop_ -

Archer howled in pain, throwing her hoof into the side of the bird's chest. With a sickening rip of cartilage, the bird violently tumbled a few yards away. Archer grinned wildly at the sound, assuming it came from the eagle. However, a warm, pins-and-needles sensation that trickled down her face and neck convinced her otherwise. Shocked, she searched for the source of the sudden white-hot pain and felt her stomach reel when she found it. Her ear was entirely gone. Frantically staring back at the struggling eagle, her eyes instantly locked on the blue piece of flesh in its beak. Her disbelief twisting into rage, she fumbled to pick up one of the arrows that were spilled amidst the fight and strung it into her bow. The great bird lied on the ground, twitching and shrieking with anger and fear, yellow eyes darting around fruitlessly for escape. As if a response to its cries, the wind crows and thunder echoes in the clouds.

She lifted her bow, and their eyes met again; this time, those yellow eyes were not filled with cockiness and brute strength, but with fear, fury and respect. From one predator to another, a respect for the stronger foe and what must happen to the weak. A predator was exactly what she was. A predator was what she always was, what she was born to be. A predator was what she always will be. Determination painted onto Archer's face when she finally lifted her bow. Steady blue hooves pulled the string until it was taut. She released the arrow, allowing it to deliver to final blow. The wooden missile impaled its head with a fleshy thump, delivering the death blow.

She was a huntress.

Rain poured violently from the sky, streaming down the filly's face in scarlet streaks. Water and blood pooled together into clumpy brown puddles at her feet. Archer allowed herself to relax at last, deeply exhaling and planting her rump into the muddy soil. The adrenaline was fading fast and she needed to rest. She took this opportunity to examine herself for damage. Shallow slashes laced across her underbelly and oozed blood, but it didn't cause Archer too much grief. Along the insides of her hind legs were a few scrapes and scratches, also not worrying or painful. The light frown on her face furrowed into a snarl of agony when she reached her left ear. Or, rather, where her left ear used to be. An eerie numbness persisted in the spot where her ear was supposed to be, almost like a ghost. It felt wrong. Remembering the blue flesh the eagle held in its beak, Archer turned back to her prize.

The bird really was a beautiful creature. She almost felt ashamed to have slain it. Almost, but she had a job to do. She gingerly cradled its limp head, opening its beak and retrieving what was left of her ear. Archer set the clod of blood and fur atop of the carcass and dragged it all with her to the riverside. She dipped her hooves in the surprisingly tranquil water and started washing the blood from her wounds. Not exactly the most sanitary course of action, but it would have to do. Her thoughts trailed to school and her classmates; no doubt, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon would give her an earful about her injury. Noticing her unintentionally grim pun, Archer chuckled wearily to herself.

Suddenly, the little blue filly felt very alone. As much as she liked hunting, the trips without Papa were lonely. It wasn't the conversation she missed, as her father was a pony of few words; it was the companionship. Once she had earned her cutie mark, her father started treating her more like a mare and less like a foal, which meant Archer had to start hunting alone. At her small size and young age, it was ridiculous to let her go off into Everfree on her own, but times were tough. Her father sold pelts to tailoring companies for a living, but more and more tailoring companies were converting to fake fur and feathers in an effort to be more "ethical". Bits had gotten tight, and hunting was becoming more necessary to the survival of her family.

Archer snapped herself out of thinking about their troubling finances. The topic caused nothing but a downward spiral of self-hatred and pity. She decided to meditate instead, noticing the river was so calm she could see her reflection almost perfectly clearly in it. The rain clouds had dispersed and the moon hung in the sky, its luminescence providing enough light for Archer to inspect her reflection. She looked older. She looked exhausted, scratch that, she was exhausted. Blood loss was catching up with the small pony, softening the edges of her vision and filling her mouth with imaginary cotton. Archer took a focused breath and recollected herself. She may have been safe in the clearing, but the forest was a dangerous place. The sapphire huntress had to be on her toes, in peak condition to react to the slightest threat at all times.

And yet, a tiny voice inside of her head protested, demanding why she kept pushing herself to work. She was young; she deserved to relax and to play and to not worry as endlessly as she did. The voice crept into a yowl of fury for the loss of innocence, for the growing indifference of pain and misery. It hissed at Archer, reminding her that her classmates had the audacity to complain about such trivial nuisances while she remained silent, working harder than they would ever know to simply make ends meet. Did they not understand what a true burden was? She could make them understand. Its anger shook her to her core, making her bite back a growl of frustration. And then, just as quickly as it had bubbled to the surface, the voice subsided.

Her psyche was a confusing place that Archer chose not to analyze too deeply. Introspection made her feel uncomfortable and insecure. She knew in her heart that it was the right decision to hunt for her and her father's sake. Above all it was family tradition, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was a stickler to tradition. But the weary little filly couldn't help but to feel cheated out of her foal-hood. She and her father worked and worked to barely make it by, struggling to uphold the appearance of a financially stable family. There were plenty of generous ponies in Ponyville who would have been happy to help them in their time of need, but she and Papa were too stubborn and proud. Just thinking about it made Archer's heart twist. So she stopped thinking about it.

Archer snorted in annoyance when she noticed that time was slipping away from her. The moon had lost its grip on the sky and was slowly sinking behind the horizon. Tendrils of golden sunshine peeked past the cover of the night, choking the constellations away with their warm colors. Archer scowled lightly, knowing she was supposed to be back home by now. School started in a matter of hours and she was in no condition to attend. Not that she was going to go anyways; after a hunting trip, she never attended school the next day. Too many chores needed attention. Her bow needed cleaned, new arrows whittled, wounds tended to, prey properly cleaned and stored. Archer's eyes flitted over to the slain eagle. It was only a matter of hours before it would start to show signs of decay, so she needed to get moving.

With a burdened groan, Archer pushed her suddenly heavy body from the damp riverbank and hoisted the golden eagle onto her back, gingerly slipping her severed ear into her quiver. When her responsibilities brought her down, the scrawny blue filly reminded herself of the principle that was necessary to an archer's success: the archer's paradox. For an arrow to strike the exact center of a target, it must point not at the center of the target, but beside it. Despite the arrow not being a perfect straight aim, it struck its intended target at pinpoint accuracy. Maybe, just maybe, Archer didn't have to be perfect either. They would be just fine, even if it looks like they won't be.

A hopeful smile graced Archer's weary face, and with thoughts of a better tomorrow she pressed back into the forest.


End file.
